They're Not Tears
by Scarllett83
Summary: They weren't tears; they really weren't! He was just sick, his eyes were watering... (Featuring a sad America and his worried uncles).


The American sniffled, rubbing and prodding at his tired eyes. A stifled yawn welled up in his throat.

"Tonnnyyyy." He whined, rolling onto his side as he turned to the alien sitting on the leather armchair beside the couch, nearly falling on the floor in the process. Wrapped up in a bundle of blankets, he could only yelp and shriek as he dangled on the edge of the couch.

The alien grunted in response, not looking up from the game he was playing on his phone.

Sighing at the lack of response he'd received, America turned his head to look at the clock, while barely managing to stay on the couch.

_10:43am_

Sniffling, Alfred wiggled his arms out of his warm little burrito, using them to help him sit up. The meeting started at 11:30. He really should start getting ready.

**[ LINE BREAK BROUGHT TO YOU BY DOITSU AND HIS TRUSTY SIDEKICK CAPTAIN PASTA ]**

New York was alive and bustling as Alfred strolled down the sidewalk. He waved and smiled at some of the people who passed him by. He truly did love his citizens, his people. No matter what the other nations said.

The air outside was cold and frigid, though his apartment hadn't been much warmer. The heat was messed up, and he really did need to get it fixed. That was part of the reason he was sick, actually. Luckily for Tony, the alien was pretty much immune to any type of weather.

Alfred tugged his bomber jacket closer, a thin protection against the cold that flooded his lungs and stung against his eyes like invisible shards of ice.

Sniffling, the American reached up to rub his nose. His stomach grumbled and growled, though he ignored it. It pained him so, but Alfred couldn't hold down any food except for the soup he'd managed to eat the night before.

"The Hero is here!" Alfred exclaimed, despite the pain in his burning throat, as he threw open the door to the meeting room. It slammed back into the wall, bowing in the slightest.

"America." England, sitting closest to the door, greeted the young nation, not looking up from the open book on his knee. He glanced up for barely a second. "Do you have to be so loud?"

"Amérique!" France cooed right after, breezing up to the American with ease. He leaned on England, resting an arm on top of the Brit's head, who protested at the act.

As the two Europeans broke out into a fight, Alfred slipped into the conference room and took his seat at the head of the table.

"Ciao! Amer~ica! Ve!" Italy waved happily at Alfred as he passed, bouncing where he stood, smiling enthusiastically.

"Mornin' Feli." He grinned right back, giving a small wave in return to the excited Italian man, seemingly deciding to ignore the sudden snarl of _"Bastardo americano!"_ from Romano.

As more nations filed into the room, Alfred couldn't help but glance at the clock. He was starting to feel steadily worse as the minutes passed; it seemed, apparently, that he was sicker than he'd initially thought

_11:17_

A low cough tore through his sore throat, his shoulders shaking as he coughed into his gloved hands.

_11:25_

He sniffled, rubbing at his face, his nose and cheeks itching as if he'd rubbed poison ivy on them.

_11:29_

He stood up, forcing his usual, jovial grin to his face as he fought back the urge to cough again.

"Welcome to America, land of the free and home of the brave, dudes! It seems like everyone is here, so..."

_"'Land of the free' my ass, aru."_

"...So let's go ahead and get started!"

_"Maybe we could have already started if you didn't talk so much, si?"_

Alfred continued on, ignoring the hisses of insults and comments coming from the other nations. He was used to it, anyways.

_"Da, idiot американка doesn't even seem to realize we're insulting him."_

As the insults continued, Alfred ignored them. As soon as they broke for lunch, Alfred found himself stumbling out the door.

His head was starting to spin, though he wasn't sure whether it was because of the insults he had to put up with or his sickness.

_"Unreliable American bastard..."_

_"-non, he iz just a kid, he know's nothing..."_

With every passing moment, it was getting harder to breathe.

For whatever reason he couldn't fathom, his eyes started to water.

_"Oh, look, the fat-ass American isn't shoveling burgers down his throat for once!"_

His eyes were watering so badly now that the walls around him blurred.

Halfway to the front doors of the conference building now, Alfred was so close to making it out—

—when an arm stuck out in front of him. Before he could stop, he tripped, and was sent toppling forward.

"Oh! Alfred, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I didn't see you coming—" A familiar voice rambled on slightly from above him, and a hand was offered to the American, who had yet to get up off the floor.

"No, no, I'm fine. Don't worry about it." Blinking, Alfred's eyes cleared after a moment, though the edges of his vision were still heavily blurred. Taking the older nation's hand, he was quickly pulled up off the floor.

Wales gave a smile to the boy who was practically his nephew, just as he heard footsteps coming up behind him. He didn't turn around, already knowing who it was.

Scotland smelled of cigars and whiskey, while Ireland smelled more so of the flowers in the nearby park where he and his brothers seemed to have spent the past two hours of the meeting walking.

The three nations usually didn't come to meetings; they left that to England. This time around, they'd come for the sole purpose of hoping to see their favorite nephew. And perhaps make fun of their youngest brother, their 'wee little Albion!'

"So, what are y'all doin' here? Y'all don't usually come to these things, and you weren't even here for the first half of the meeting." America asked casually, though he continued to blink as he did so, wishing away the tears flooding his vision.

"We came tae see ye, o' course, laddie." Scotland laughed as he threw an arm around Alfred's shoulders, towering over him in the slightest. Alfred was tall, although all three of his uncles were a good few inches taller than him with Scotland being the tallest and Wales the shortest.

Giving them a cheeky grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, America light poked his elbow into Scotland's side. "Of corse ya did, dude! Everyone want's to see the hero!" He gave a boisterous laugh.

Wales watched the two of them with a small smile as the four continued down the hallway, out the front doors, and out onto the streets of New York City.

His smile fell, though, when he noticed something rather strange. America sure was blinking a lot, which put him on edge for some reason. His eyes seemed a bit cloudier than usual, and...

...was it just Wales' imagination or did Alfred look like he was about to cry?

"Al." He said suddenly, coming to a halt. Ireland bumped into him, and both Scotland and the American himself to turn to the Welshman. "Look at me."

Alfred, for all his credit, looked rather confused at the command though, nonetheless, he did as told.

Blinking twice more, America stared at Wales, who stared right back. Ireland and Scotland shared an equally confused look, before turning back to the shorter two nations.

"Are you okay?" Wales took a step closer to Alfred, who seemed so shocked by the question that he took a step back. Closing in on the American, Wales continued, "What's wrong? Al?"

"Nothin' 's wrong," America gave a rather nervous sounding laugh, trying to take another step back, only to back right into Scotland. "What are you talking about, dude?"

His lie was obvious though, as a few drops of salted water slipped from the corners of his eyes.

Immediately, America's hand flew up. He hastily wiped at his cheeks with his jacket sleeve, feeling his stomach churn with embarrassment, and perhaps something more.

"Eh? Aflie? Why ye' cryin?" Scotland seemed to freeze, his hands gripping the American's shoulders to keep him from fleeing, while unconsciously pulling the American closer.

"I'm— I'm not crying," Alfred forced out, even as his throat swelled and bobbed. "My eyes are waterin', I caught a cold a few days ago, and and..." His hands were waving through the air by now as he tried to justify his tears, becoming more frantic as he realized it wasn't working.

_"Bloody American, never know's when to shut up..."_

_"Why is he always so loud, aru!"_

_"No burgers today, Amerika?"_

Their insults flooded his mind, and he clenched his eyes shut.

"Liar." Ireland stepped towards the American, standing right besides Wales. His voice softened, and he gave Alfred a concerned look. "What's wrong, Al? Did something happen at the meeting?"

"I just— they, they... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for crying, I know I shouldn't..." His tongue twisted against the roof of his mouth, his teeth digging into the end of it, as he stumbled over his words. More tears dripped and tumbled down his cheeks, to his palpable dismay.

"Who is 'they'? D' I hae tae kill someone?" Scotland's voice was eerily threatening as his grip tightened on Alfred's shoulders. Unconsciously, he pulled the smaller nation back against his chest.

"You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone cries, Al." Sighing, Wales wrapped an arm around the crying American's shoulders, somehow managing to wiggle the limb between Scotland's chest and Alfred's back.

Alfred buried his face in the junction of Wales' shoulder and his neck, like he often did as a child, sucking in a shuddering breath as the tears came on even harder.

"I'm not stupid am I? I'm not fat, I'm not unreliable...I'm...I'm not a bad person..." The words smashed together, the American mumbling incoherently into Wales' shoulder.

Wales sighed softly, rubbing a comforting hand between the shorter nation's shoulder blades.

"You're okay..." He murmured lowly, "I've got ya, Al."

**[ LINE BREAK, BROUGHT TO YOU BY SEALAND AND HIS RAGTAG GANG OF SALTY NOT-COUNTRIES ]**

"I'm sorry." Alfred mumbled into the mattress for what seemed like the hundredth time.

The three European nations had brought the crying American back to their hotel room. Ireland was currently sitting on the armchair beside the bed, where Alfred had laid down with his face buried in the blankets. Wales was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on the small of Alfred's back. Scotland, of course, leaned against the wall besides the open window, a cigar in his mouth.

"You hae nothin' tae apologize for, laddie." Scotland gave the blonde an unusually tender look, "Ye did nothin' wrong."

Wales nodded in agreement, though the younger nation couldn't see him, and hummed.

Alfred just groaned in response, rolling onto his back. His hair was messy, his eyes red and glasses gone as he stared, his eyes fluttering back and forth between his three uncles.

"Al." Ireland's voice dropped, his usually cheerful face deadly serious, as he leaned over the American, staring down at him with dark green-blue eyes. "What did they say to you?"

For the past twenty minutes the three older nations had been trying to get the younger to tell them what had happened at the first half of the meeting. After all, it wasn't very often that the jovial American cried.

To no avail, of course. America refused to say anything of the meeting, despite their best efforts.

"All of them." Alfred whispered miserably, making all three nations snap to attention as he spoke. More tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, but he didn't bother wiping them away. "They all hate me so much, but I don't know why. I know I've made mistakes, but haven't we all? Why do they hate me so much? Where did I go wrong?"

His voice wavered as he spoke, hoarse from crying. America's uncles could only watch as their nephew broke before their eyes.

Scotland slowly sat down at the end of the bed then, much to everyone's surprise, laid on his side next to America and opened his arms.

Alfred didn't question him, didn't look at him. Without a word, he turned, and tucked himself against his uncle, head buried in his chest. He breathed in the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and whiskey, finding comfort in Scotland's warmth.

And America continued to cry and sob and pour his heart out.

Scotland didn't say a word. Only listened as his nephew broke to a million pieces in his arms.

Because sometimes, words aren't needed. Sometimes they don't belong, and sometimes there aren't any to say. Because sometimes, in moments like this, all you need is someone to hold you and listen. You don't need to hear 'It's okay' or 'Everything will be fine' because it most certainly isn't okay, and you doubt anything will ever be fine again.

Idly, Ireland thought back to Alfred's earlier words. _They're not tears, my ass._


End file.
